and silver in our lungs
by Emmel1118
Summary: She cried a thousand sunsets over him. Now, she knows she'll cry a thousand more. - oneshot Han/Leia


**a/n contains MAJOR spoilers for** THE FORCE AWAKENS

…

 _and silver in our lungs_

…

She cried a thousand sunsets over him.

Now, she knows she'll cry a thousand more.

…

A long time ago now, they were happy.

She used to roll over in the middle of the night and hold him to her, breathing him in and whispering 'I love you' in the dark.

She used to remember everything lost to make it to that moment – all her childhood memories haunted by ghosts and all the violence and death that used to surround her – and she never thought she'd lose anything else in her life again.

She was wrong.

…

They married quietly.

Just Luke, and Chewie.

And them, of course.

…

A child, not long after.

A baby boy with his father's eyes.

Neither of them expect their child to break their hearts so completely.

She never expects to be told her husband is dead at the hands of their baby boy; the little boy who used to giggle when she tickled his stomach.

…

She remembers the day she lost her son.

The day dawned beautiful. She was happy; she had everything she'd ever dreamed of.

By the time the sun had sunk in the sky once more, she had lost her son and her brother and was slowly starting to lose pieces of her husband, too.

…

She makes the fight her mission, her crusade if you will.

She will not rest until the First Order is destroyed.

She will not rest until she has collected all the pieces of her shattered idyll and discovered whether they can be put back together.

So many years later, when her husband is gone and her son is gone, she's left clutching at tatters and she knows they never can.

…

She would be lying if she said she never blamed herself.

There were dark times, times where she blamed herself so deeply she didn't wish to see another sunrise.

But over the years – and there have been so many – she has come to terms with it. Come to peace with it.

She was a good mother, she thinks.

Hopes.

…

She blamed Han too, sometimes, for what happened to their son.

But mainly, she blamed him for breaking her heart even more than it was.

He left.

She can remember the day vividly.

A hot sunset burned the dry earth. She had woke late, and found him outside. The Falcon was there – for repairs, he'd told her - but so was Chewie and the look in his eyes gave him away. She'd known him too long for him to fool her anymore.

The only thing she'd asked him – and now, after everything, she wishes she'd said more – was whether he was going to say goodbye.

He'd said yes and she'd known he meant no.

Han Solo was born to run away, she just wishes he could have learnt to stay, for her.

…

That night is the first sunset.

The first sunset she cries for him – because she misses him, and his wry smile and sardonic sense of humour. Misses the way he held her while they slept. Misses the way she'd wake in the midst of darkness and he'd be there, always, her port in storm.

It is the first of many.

…

She sees him, every so often.

A glance here, a nod there, when he visits the planet they made there home on.

It's rare, she concedes, but it's enough to stop going insane with worry or mad with the guilt.

Now, she's lost even that.

…

She knows.

The moment it happens; the moment, a world away, her son ends her husband's life. She knows.

It feels like she's adrift in an ocean and she can't see the land, no matter how far she swims or how hard she looks.

It feels like she's lost, and will never be found again.

…

She thinks it's cruel that she sees him one last time before he goes.

One last time to remind her just how much she loves him.

One last time to give her hope that he will return to her and learn how to stay.

One last time to remind her of all the happiness he gave her.

One last time, to make it even more painful when she is told that he is dead.

…

Rey tells her.

It's confirmation of what she already knows, inside, but it still hurts.

The words themselves are soft, and gentle – but even the whisper's brutal to her ears.

"He's dead," Rey says, and then Leia weeps, because before, it was just a feeling – a feeling she could squash down and ignore and pretend like it didn't mean what she knew it meant, but now, it's fact and true and it kills her, terribly, inside.

…

She remembers back to their first meeting often.

Whenever the memory, still clear and fresh so many years later, hits her, it drains all the energy from her.

Back then, when she was young and free and reckless, she had no clue what the future would bring. She just had ideals and morals and dreams.

Han had ideals and morals and dreams too.

They don't stop death claiming you as his.

…

Some days, when he was gone – flying round the Galaxy in whatever hunk of metal he could get his hands on, doing the only thing he thought he could do – she wants to scream at him and yell and tell him that he was good at other things too.

Like being a husband, and a father. A friend too.

She wants to scream at him to come home and hold her in bed whilst they fall asleep, and tell her he loves her whenever he feels like it. Yell at him that he doesn't get to be selfish and leave her to be the strong one. Tell him to come home and be the man she knows he is.

But some days, she understands. The memories get too much for her too.

On those days, she is strong and she accepts her losses.

(but they still hurt as damn much)

…

She cried a thousand sunsets over Han Solo.

Now he's dead, she knows she'll cry a thousand more, and a thousand more after that and so on, until she's taken her last breath.

…

a/n The title comes from Spectrum by Florence + the Machine


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